Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
       dancing ecstatic,
       swaying hypnotic,
       sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
   at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
   hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.

A peaceful man in a belligerent nation
Delivering messages of hope station to station
Through words of power and words of encouragement
Supplying the spiritually needy with nourishment
Don't stop, because this place needs an uprising
Creativity is dead and authority is hypnotizing